


You Can Ask Anything (Of Me)

by airebellah



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Boss!Tony, Boss/Employee Relationship, Casual Sex, Coercion, Dubious Consent, First Meetings, Hand Jobs, Intern!Peter, Interns & Internships, M/M, Mild Humiliation, Not Underage, Peter is 17 (age of consent), Premature Ejaculation, Secret Crush, Sexual Inexperience, Underage Drinking, ambiguous ending, different first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 03:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16421342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: “What’re you, uh, what - what’re you… doing here?” Peter asked, as he stood alone in a dark hallway with his new boss.“Did you not want me to follow you?” Mr. Stark asked, with a devilish smirk that said the answer couldn’t possibly beno.





	You Can Ask Anything (Of Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Can you do a no powers AU where Peter is an actual intern for SI and so starstruck by Tony. Tony takes an inappropriate interest in Peter and Peter is so happy for the attention but uncomfortable with the nature of it. Cue heavy dubcon with hesitant!Peter but he just wants Mr. Stark to like him

_Lucky_ did not even begin to describe it. It was completely unfathomable, being selected out of hundreds, _thousands_ _,_ of candidates for one of the intern positions with Stark Industries. Peter had vowed, as he signed his employment contract with a shaky hand, to not let _anything_ get in his way.

He had just never expected that that _thing_ would be the great Tony Stark himself.

It happened at a company party. Peter was already uncomfortable, surrounded by adults he didn’t know who were all drinking -- he had graduated early from high school, and was still seventeen, which made him even younger than the rest of the young interns. Plus the party had been completely unexpected, and while the internship paid well, his latest paycheque had already been put toward his fall tuition at NYU. So he had had no money to rent a suit or even buy one from the thrift store, leaving him squeezed into his too-tight suit from prom, which was _actually_ his too-tight suit from sophomore _homecoming_ _._

Whenever someone found out he was interning at SI, the first question was always, “Have you met Tony Stark?” And he always forced a laugh and said _no_ _._ He didn’t tell them it was his biggest fear, that he secretly thought he had been chosen in error and if Mr. Stark were to ever meet him, the man would be able to sniff it out in a split second.

So when he caught Mr. Stark’s gaze across the room, Peter’s heart didn’t burst in excitement. But his hand did begin to shake, violently enough for a few spurts of Diet Coke to pour down his hand, as he tried valiantly to keep the partially-digested appetizers in his stomach where they belonged.

It was truly a relief when the man’s fingers crooked in invitation, because Peter was one in a crowd of dozens, and he realized the billionaire must be looking at someone else.

Nonetheless, it was too close a call, and Peter high-tailed it out of the room.

As it turned out, walking down a dark, abandoned corridor when purposefully trying to avoid someone at _their_ party in a maze of a building was _not_ the smartest idea.

“Was it something I said?”

This time, as Peter jumped, his drink went pouring down his arm and chest, soaking his sleeve and the front of his shirt.

“Shit, kid, didn’t mean to startle you.” Tony Stark -- Tony _freakin’_ Stark -- was casually sauntering down the hall toward Peter, pulling out a burgundy pocket square and handing it to the dumbfounded teen. “You okay?”

“What’re you, uh, what - what’re you… doing here?”

“Did you not want me to follow you?” Mr. Stark asked, with a devilish smirk that said the answer couldn’t possibly be _no_ _._ “Here, let me…”

The next thing Peter knew, Mr. Stark’s hand was touching his chest. Well, the _cloth_ Mr. Stark was holding was touching Peter’s shirt, but it still left Peter gawking up at the man in horror.

And then there was a brush of unmistakably warm, rough skin along the top of his collar.

“Gotta say, kid, I admire your spunk. Very publicly ignoring me to slip off to somewhere more private… What’s your name?”

By now, Mr. Stark’s fingers were resting on Peter’s windsor knot, mockingly awaiting approval. “Shouldn’t we, um, get back t-to the party?”

“Only if you don’t want this,” Mr. Stark responded, taking a step closer. “If you’re worrying about what the others may think, don’t. I own the company, after all.”

_Right_ _,_ Peter thought somewhat hysterically. _I only have to worry about what_ you _think._ As the teen tried to formulate a response (there was no question, so he wasn’t sure what to say), a door slammed closer to the main event, followed by stumbling feet and drunken laughter.

Mr. Stark sighed, stuffing the sodden cloth into the teen’s empty glass. “Let me take you somewhere private.”

 

Peter found himself led to a nearby room furnished with a table full of alcohol, and not much else. Mr. Stark was already pouring himself a glass when he said, “What’s your poison?”

“I-I’m not old enough to drink, sir,” Peter explained.

Shrugging, Mr. Stark threw back his shot before slamming the glass onto the table. “Drink, don’t drink,” he said, reaching for the bottle once more. “All I’m saying is I’m not going to turn you in.”

Peter was torn; he had been called lame before, at high school parties, for only taking a few, delicate sips of beer or heavily-flavoured, fruity vodka. And those were _teenagers_ \-- this was Tony Stark.

“Uh, sure. Whatever you’re having. Please”

Instead of filling a new glass, Mr. Stark slid over the one he had just drinken from. When Peter reached over to grab it, the man teasingly pulled it out of reach. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Seventeen,” Peter mumbled, prying the shot glass from Mr. Stark’s suddenly lax grip.

“Jesus,” the man muttered. He stared at the large bottle of alcohol (Peter couldn’t say what it was, other than light brown in colour), before unscrewing the cap and chugging straight from the bottle. “So that wide-eyed, baby deer caught-in-the-headlights thing…wasn’t really an act, was it?”.

“Should I go?” Peter asked, chewing his lip as he stared down at the shot glass, still filled to the brim.

Mr. Stark raked his nails through his goatee as he contemplated. “You’re the age of consent,” he decided. “Up to you.”

It should have been freeing, given the choice. But Peter didn’t always do well with options, and walking out that door instead of standing still seemed like the bigger, and scarier, choice.

And that was how he ended up on a couch (he had somehow missed it, when he first walked in) with his idol, long-standing crush, and _now_ boss. He hadn’t touched his drink, but Mr. Stark didn’t mention it, just downed the shot himself before guiding Peter over with a hand on the small of the teen’s back.

“So, how are you liking SI?” Mr. Stark asked. He positioned himself facing Peter, with one arm slinging around the teen’s shoulders.

“It’s great, sir,” He couldn’t hide his smile as he added, “A dream come true.”

His skin prickled as Mr. Stark’s nails dragged along the back of his neck. “Earnesty,” Mr. Stark murmured, eyes drawn temporarily to Peter’s lips. “It looks good on you, kid.”

In the time it took Peter’s mind to convince him to say, “Thank you,” Mr. Stark’s fingers dragged along the line of the teen’s jaw before he rested his thumb on the curve of Peter’s lip.

“I knew when I saw you standing there all alone that I had to have you.” Mr. Stark’s tone had dropped, filled with a husky desire that made Peter’s heart race even as his stomach churned in protest. “Can I have you, kid?”

His throat closed up, refusing to utter anything other than a croaked, “Peter. My name’s, uh -”

“Peter,” Mr. Stark agreed before leaning in and capturing the teen’s mouth. He didn’t even move his thumb out of the way first; the teen was left navigating the onslaught of Mr. Stark’s lips and tongue, and the prickly brush of his goatee, all while the man’s thumb hooked into the inside of Peter’s cheek. It was messy, to say the least, but that only seemed to spur Mr. Stark on; the man moaned, lapping up any saliva spilling down Peter’s chin, as his free hand wound around the boy’s waist and fully pulled him into Mr. Stark’s lap.

“Um, sir?” Peter attempted when Mr. Stark’s lips finally departed his mouth to suck on… his _earlobe_ _,_ of all things.

“Keep talking like that, kid,” Mr. Stark whispered in his ear, before giving a wet swipe of his tongue that had Peter’s entire body shivering. “Gonna make me come so fast.”

Before he _could_ speak -- to say either what he or Mr. Stark wanted, he didn’t even know -- Mr. Stark’s fingers wound their way into his mouth. “Suck.”

And Peter was helpless to do anything but obey that commanding tone. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to handle his boss’s heated gaze. So he missed Mr. Stark’s hand reaching down until a palm was cupping his crotch through his pants and he flinched, accidentally chomping down on Mr. Stark’s knuckles.

“It’s okay, sweet boy,” Mr. Stark soothed immediately, withdrawing his hand out of the boy’s mouth to sling his arm around Peter’s shoulders and pull him closer. Peter squirmed awkwardly as the man’s fingers plucked at his fly. “So pretty,” Mr. Stark crooned distractingly, cool, wet fingers dragging down the boy’s cheek. “Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. Wish I could keep you.”

Peter blushed, turning his head away. His genuine bashfulness drew a chuckle from Mr. Stark, who was now working his own pants open. “Y-You could have anyone,” Peter protested weakly.

“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Stark snorted. “Take out that pretty little cock, now, sweetheart.”

Shuddering, Peter leaned down to hide his face in Mr. Stark’s shoulder. He couldn’t watch, couldn’t even _believe_ this was happening. How had he gone from idolizing the man from afar, since _childhood_ _,_ to hearing those words directed at him?   
He didn’t disobey, though.

The first touch of _Tony Stark’s_ hand around his cock had the boy crying out, hips immediately rocking up into the man’s limp grip. The man gave a few, perfunctory tugs and Peter moaned, low and long and broken.

“Fuck, you’re not gonna last long, are you, kid?” It was almost cruel, the way Mr. Stark immediately paired a tightened grip with a faster pace; as if he wanted to ensure Peter came as quickly as possible.

“I -- sir,” he choked, fingers digging into the billionaire’s biceps.

“That’s it, pretty boy,” Mr. Stark encouraged. “Say my name when you come.”

Peter’s sole thought as he orgasmed, with humiliating speed and a groaned, _“_ _Tony_ _,”_ was that he couldn’t afford to pay for Mr. Stark’s dry cleaning. He could only hope the man wouldn’t mention it, because it was becoming increasingly evident that he would not be able to turn down anything Mr. Stark said.

Fingers twisted in the back of his head, tugging until Peter was forced to lift his head from the safety of Mr. Stark’s shoulder, the navy fabric of the man’s jacket soaked with saliva. “How you feeling, sweetheart?”

Instead of answering, Peter looked down at Mr. Stark’s bulging erection, peeking through his opened fly. “Sh-should I…?”

Mr. Stark sighed as he relinquished Peter’s curls, fingers dragging along the boy’s thudding pulse, up his throat and chin before resting against his parted lips. “I would’ve loved to have this,” Mr. Stark confessed, dark eyes half-lidded. His fingers pushed into Peter’s mouth, and the boy obediently stretched open his mouth as Mr. Stark pulled at his jaw. “But your mouth is a little small, sweetie. Let’s just take you home, shall we?”

Peter tried to ignore the way his heart sank. He should have been _excited_ at the prospect of being trapped in the man’s company for at least another half-hour. And that’s what he told himself _(_ _chanted_ _,_ really) as he tucked his softening cock back into his underwear and tried to clear the sticky come off his only suit with the napkin Mr. Stark silently handed him.

“Don’t worry, kid,” the man said. He attempted to ruffle a hand through Peter’s hair, only his fingers got stuck in the tacky, cheap mousse. Peter didn't miss the slight curl of Tony's lip as he rubbed his hand against his pants. But the grimace quickly smoothed into a winking smile as he said, “The backseat of my limo is plenty private.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Visit me on tumblr for more of my Starker ficlets, to submit requests, and geek out with me over these dorks.](http://airebellah.tumblr.com)


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